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Pajo, "1968"
Dave Pajo has historically been known as the go-to man for guitar ability and sound: when Billy Corgan told Matt Sweeney "I want to get that guitar sound in Slint," Sweeney's reaction was simply, "Why don't we just get the guitarist from Slint?" On his second release under his last name, Dave has taken things further and demonstrated he has mastered the technique of total songcraft, something deftly exhibited on Pajo but perfected here.
Drag City
When I first saw his first self-led project live, Aerial M, David wouldn't even face the crowd, nevermind singing in front of a crowd. Over the years his vocals have become more prominent and here it seems like they're no longer just another instrument, but in the driver's seat of the song, taking front row center at times while an arrangement of organ, piano, and strings now accompany competant guitar, bass, and drumming. I have always been impressed with every step Pajo has taken along the way with the evolution of his own projects, but more than ever, he is showing his true talents as a fully-realized multi-faceted composer.
For the most part, David presents an album with a heaping amount of variety. Not only does he show that he can do Beatle-esque blues and power pop with songs like "We Get Along, Mostly" and "Foolish King," but he even makes a kind of nod to the old Aerial M days with the instrumental "Insomnia Song." Most of the first half of 1968 is very dark, subject wise, despite the bright, white cover and lush, elegant booklet. "Who's That Knocking" opens the album with words like a very grim lullaby and musically it shifts between some contrasting movements without a weak spot in its nearly six minutes. "The Devil Wants His Revenge" comes up a couple times, adding more evidence to my theory that Pajo must have signed a pact similar to Robert Johnson's: Dave's just too damned talented.
Even though he has been spending much of his time recently in Brooklyn, he's almost more in touch with his country roots than he has ever been, comically singing about "hillbilly killers on the run" in "Wrong Turn," followed by a murder and cannibalism by a river story in "Cyclone Eye." Additionally, he makes a nod to the Papa M singles series (the One, Two, Three,... EPs where songs were recorded at friends' places), however, where Papa M would include the collaboration of friends, "Walk Through the Dark," is a very introspective song with the recording made alone in a hotel.
The full sound returns for the endearing "Let It Be Me," and if there's a drum machine playing these beats on this or any of the other songs on 1968 (like it sounded like on Pajo), he's done a briulliant job of making them sound real nearly everywhere. "I've Just Restored My Will To Live Again," ironically ends the album on a very lyrically bright and optimistic note, completely contrasting the context of the song, recorded with only a simple guitar and voice on what's probably a very crummy, hand-held recorder.
1968 is very fluid, comfortable, and full sounding, and it's time that David Pajo isn't just "that guy who played with Tortoise, Stereolab, Royal Trux, Zwan, and Slint" (and that alone wouldn't be a bad way to be known) but regarded for his own strengths as an excellent composer and arranger.
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